The Day I was Almost Arrested
by Seka
Summary: “You were with Jesus!” she shouted at me. I wanted to say, “Yes I was with Jesus. I am proud that I was, for I was with the Messiah, the Son of God. But instead I said to her, “I know not what you are talking about”. -The Denial in Peter's point


The Day I was Almost Arrested  
  
We watched as they took our Messiah away. I could barely see his frame from behind the bushes I had hid behind, he was surrounded by many of the chiefs and elders. They were taking him away, none of us knew where. Judas followed a few steps behind, a look of guilt on his face. I looked to the left of me and saw my bloody sword laying on the ground. If only Jesus had let me fight, let me tear the elders to pieces, he might not have been caught. But he told me to stop. "Those who live by the sword die by the sword" he said, and I listened. I wanted to stay by his side, and fight with him, protect him, as he deserved to be protected. He had done so much for us, been so kind to us. We loved him as our brother, our mentor, and our teacher. But we were too scared. We were too much of cowards to stand up for the man who ate, drank, and slept with us. We were nothing but a bunch of cowards. And like cowards, we ran, we deserted our Messiah; we deserted Jesus.  
  
I looked at John next to me. He too was hiding behind the shrubs. His face was grave and sullen. Sweat dripped from his chin, his breaths slow and deep.  
  
"Peter, do you think we should follow him?" He asked me softly. I thought about what he had just asked. If they caught us they could kill us, but I wanted to know what they would do to Jesus. My curiosity got the best of me and nodded my head. He stood up unsurely out of the bushes and I followed.  
  
"Maybe we should wait a few minutes so that they're ahead of us." I reasoned.  
  
"I think that's best," he agreed. So we waited in the dark, feeling alone and deserted. I looked around for the other disciples but they were nowhere to be found. They all, like us, ran away in fear. On the ground, a good distance away, laid Mark's robes. He was almost caught by one of the soldiers, but he managed to get away, leaving only his clothes.  
  
We had waited long enough, and I began walking beckoning John to follow. He did, and we made our way along the dusty track from the Mount of Olives. My heart pounded in my chest and every so often my knees became weak causing me to stagger along the way. Without Jesus I wasn't sure we could make it, he taught us, he advised us, and we loved him. We gave up our lives to follow him, and if he was no longer there for us to follow, we had nothing.  
  
John was the first one to catch sight of the elders. They surrounded our Lord, holding clubs and swords. Jesus was barely visible among them. I grew afraid and stopped in my tracks, but John urged me to move. They noisily brought Jesus along the streets, gathering more people as they walked. John and I followed, a safe distance away our fear growing with every step.  
  
They took Jesus to the house of the High Priest in the dead of night. The people around us whispered to each other.  
  
"I hear that they're going to give him a trial in there," a dark haired man told another.  
  
"Do you think they'll crucify him?" a burly man asked his brother.  
  
The children held onto their mothers' skirts for fear of what was happening. A short, freckle-faced girl with a neat ponytail tugged onto her mother's skirt and asked, "Mama, what are they going to do to Jesus? They won't hurt him, will they?" I remembered her as one of the children who we had refused to let see Jesus. But Jesus insisted that they be allowed to pass, saying that we must be like children to enter into heaven. How he loved them all. He brought smiles to the children's faces, and now they were all scared for him. Jesus was their friend and they didn't want any harm done to him. They always felt wanted when they were around him. He made them feel loved. Jesus did that to everyone, even us, the disciples.  
  
I watched as her mother tried to comfort her, "Of course not dear. Jesus will be okay." And the little girl was satisfied, she was happy again. She believed what her mother had told her. It was then that I wished I were a child. I wished that I didn't know any better. I wished I could believe her mother when she said Jesus was okay, but I knew better. And I knew that the authorities despised Jesus, they wanted to put him to a stop. I knew that nothing good could come out of this night.  
  
John was allowed to enter the courtyard of the High Priest because he knew him, but I could not. I had to wait outside. I was allowed to enter only after he spoke to doorkeeper. The soldiers filled the courtyard. They were all busy talking about how they had caught Jesus, and how they were waiting to see the outcome of the trial. I was filled with hatred. I wanted to curse them all, and I wished for all the money in Jerusalem that I had not left my sword back on the ground at the Mount of Olives. Maybe then I could have done some harm to them like they were doing to us. But I had left my sword at the Mount of Olives, and even if I didn't I was powerless here, in their territory. If I even stood up for Jesus I would be killed.  
  
I began to shiver, for it was midnight and the air was cold. I saw nearby that some of the soldiers had made a fire to warm themselves, and in hopes of blending in with the crowd I joined them and stood by the flames.  
  
I looked on as they began hitting Jesus, and I shook with a mixture of rage and fear. They ordered him to be put to death and began calling him a liar, they hit him, they cursed him, they made fun of him. I prayed to God that he might perform a miracle and save Jesus from this torture. Why couldn't he save himself? He had explained to us that he had to fulfil the prophecy in order to save mankind. But why does he have to do it this way? Why does he have to suffer so much? How could he possibly love the people who were hitting him? How could he love those who spit at him? How could he love the officials who wanted him dead? More than that, how could he love us, the disciples, who deserted him when he needed us the most? The tightness in my chest grew and I bowed my head in shame. Tears filled my eyes, but I could not let my emotions show for fear that they might arrest me too.  
  
A young woman came up to me and looked at my closely. I looked at her. Her soft black curls hung over her shoulders and her pink lips curved downwards as she frowned at me. "You were with Jesus!" she shouted at me.  
  
I wanted to say, "Yes I was with Jesus. I am proud that I was, for I was with the Messiah, the Son of God. And I know him personally, I drank and ate and slept with him. I prayed with him, and I talked with him. I broke bread with him, and he loved me as I loved him" but I saw the way they were hitting Jesus, I saw the blood running down his back from the whip. I saw the way they were pushing him around, and I saw the pain in his face. I saw the soldiers in their armour eyeing me suspiciously; ready to arrest me as soon as they knew that I was with Jesus. And instead I said to her, "I know not what you are talking about". And it hurt inside to hear myself say these words, but I could not bear to be taken like Jesus was. I did not want to be killed. The soldiers finally stopped looking at me and went back to what they were doing. And I gave a sigh of relief for having avoided the arrest.  
  
Not soon after a plump woman in a white cascading dress looked at me and turned to those around her saying, "This man was with Jesus of Nazareth." They began to whisper, and the soldiers moved in closer. I wanted desperately to say, "I was, and I still am! He is the true Messiah and those who cannot see it are fools! All of you are fools! You don't know what you are doing! You are all sinners!" But the guards were less than a two feet away and they had their spears and swords in their hands. I heard them whispering among them debating whether or not they should arrest me, I heard the whispers of the people saying that I should be crucified; I heard the cries of pain from Jesus. And Instead I said to them all, "I don't know the man!" And they looked at me, and slowly accepted what I had said. Every so often, the guards would cast me a sideward glance and I knew that I had to be careful, or I would be arrested, or even crucified.  
  
But they weren't as convinced as I thought, for those standing near, including some soldiers, came up to me and looked at me carefully. Some sneered at me, and others looked on disapprovingly. "Surely you are one of his followers!" they accused. "Your accent gives you away!"  
  
And I wished that I could say, "I am! I am his follower! And I still follow him! I will follow him to death! And I am better off than all of you because I know the truth! I know that he is really the Messiah!" But, I could feel a soldier's spear on my back for a spilt second. And more of the soldiers had gathered. More people were beginning to recognise who I was, and they were banning against me. And one of the elders was saying in the background, "What is going on over there? A follower of Jesus you say? He should surely be arrested!" And I remembered John the Baptist and how they tortured him for speaking the good news. And I saw Jesus being abused and I knew that if great men like that couldn't help themselves then I had no chance. And I saw the guards circle around me, ready to capture me at the orders of the elders. And I began to shake of fear, and my heart was pounding rapidly in my chest, and I was out of breath. And before I could catch myself I was cursing and swearing and I shouted, "I do not know the man!"  
  
And at that moment the rooster crowed and I looked over at Jesus and his crystal blue eyes caught mine, and in them I saw pain, and sorrow. A single tear rolled down his cheek and he turned his face away from me. I remembered his words, "Before the cock crows, you will deny me three times." And I felt like my heart dropped. The pain welled up inside and I couldn't hold it any longer, I was not only a coward, I was a liar and a betrayer. I ran with all my strength out of the courtyard and I poured out all the hurt and shamefulness that I felt through my tears, I cried like I had never before cried. And my heart hurt like it was being beaten, but I was the one responsible. I escaped arrest, but I had betrayed my friend, my brother. I had betrayed the one who cared for me the most; I had betrayed Jesus.  
  
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This composition is for a school assignment due on Thursday. I wrote it and I figured it could be a one chapter fic also. So go ahead, tell me what you think. Because I really need advice on it. Thanks for reading. 


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